Flatline
by Itanohira
Summary: The fingers caressing his wrist was not Antonio. Those green eyes, the tanned skin, his sparkling smile – they were all Antonio's. Yet, somehow, they weren't. Because Antonio was dead and this wasn't his Antonio. Not the one he loved. Nation/Human, Spain/Lovino, past!Antonio/Lovino, Spamano in general, AU.


Summary: The fingers caressing his wrist was not Antonio. Those green eyes, the tanned skin, his sparkling smile – they were all Antonio's. Yet, somehow, they weren't. Because Antonio was dead and this wasn't his Antonio. Not the one he loved. Nation/Human, Spain/Lovino, past!Antonio/Lovino, Spamano in general, AU.

This AU is really confusing but its all spamano so lets get this party started yo

Note: The personification of South Italy does not exist in this AU. Lovino does, though. I'm also playing on the fact that Feliciano(the human, that is!), doesn't exist, whereas the personification of one whole Italy (which is still Veneciano) does. Though there will probably be none/next to nothing mentioned about other nations in this story, since this is just gonna be centered on exploring the character differences between Antonio and Spain. This _had_ the potential to be dark (but I didn't do it, weh)– T for implied adult themes, too. I'm still sorta interested in writing a full-out story for this au… but I have so many stories going on and life is so hectic, ahh ;; This will be completed for now. Maybe when I have the time I'll add more. Think of this as a prologue of sorts. I typed this up during lunch at school so it'll probably have lotsa mistakes and it's a bit choppy, haha!

_Flatline_

It doesn't really matter how it started – for Lovino, it was all about the allure, the way this _man_ – not man, he reprimanded himself, _Antonio_ was a man, but the other being in his bed, tangled in his sheets and breathing against his neck was no mere man – smiled, the way his damnable green eyes sparkled when he looked at Lovino at the bar downtown. Just like… just like how Ant-

Lovino closed his eyes and shook his head.

_Fuck_… if he only knew where this would lead, maybe he wouldn't have been drawn in like a moth to a flame.

When he opened his eyes again he was met with the sight of those messy, wavy locks; his hands went up on their own accord to brush them back. He squinted, and the burning in his eyes reminded him this was just a fond memory dug and carved into his habits and his flesh, resurrected to haunt and jaunt that this wasn't Antonio.

It was like this every day.

Every morning was some curse in disguise, and Lovino wondered what devil he made a deal with in the depths of his dreams, what god up there, what unnatural force decided that he would get such a punishment, to see and touch the person he loved most, but _not_ get the person he fell in love with, and instead get some duplicate, some person in the same body and not necessarily of the same spirit.

His heart ached.

"Antonio," His throat burned and his heart rose and fell to say his name again, and _God_, how could this person in his bed have the same name as _him?_ What were the chances?

Antonio (but not _his_ Antonio) mumbled something into the crook of his neck, heating his body up. "_Mi Corazon_," Lovino heard him mumble, and he wish his breath hadn't stopped the way it did. "Give me more time; the day can wait."

And he complied. He wrapped an arm around Antonio's broad shoulders, pulling himself in closer, pretending that _his_ Antonio was there, breathing, _alive; _For a moment, it did feel like it. It felt right, and it was enough of a comfort to go back to sleep in the early hours of the mid-morning. The soft glow of the sun shined through the curtains, doused and warmed them, and it was good. Everything was okay.

-x-

"Wake up, _mi amor_," _His_ voice gently lifted him from his sleep. Lovino didn't say anything, not when it was _his_ voice beckoning him to wake up, not even when the wrong Antonio pressed a hand against his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up.

"I'm up," Lovino finally said. He opened his eyes, still tired. Worn. He managed to press his lips into a smile. "Breakfast?"

"Anything you want, _mi cielo_," Antonio said, and after some shifting, managed to slip out of bed, his hand clasped in Lovino's. His eyes were still as bright as the night before, bright just like- "Let's go."

Lovino let himself get led out of bed, thinking that this isn't something his Antonio would have done. Breakfast is tense, despite the delicious food; maybe the tenseness was all Lovino's, because every time he looked up from a bite of breakfast, Antonio seemed like the epitome of content as he finished his meal. When he would catch the other's gaze, and Lovino would duck his head, face flushed.

"I have to go soon," Antonio said nonchalantly, after a bite. Lovino immediately looked up from his half-finished dish.

"What?"

A beat. "I have business to do, Lovino." Lovino couldn't help but gawk, and his fingers loosened their shaky hold on his fork. It felt as if it took all his strength to _not_ drop it.

"This afternoon?" Antonio looked troubled for a moment at the off-ness of Lovino's tone, eyebrows furrowed. His look smoothed out with an easy smile, teeth white and shiny.

"Yeah. It's okay, though. I'll be back by tonight."

Lovino didn't have the heart to answer, eyes downcast. As much as having Antonio here with him hurt, having him not there in his apartment only seemed to sting even more. It was like… losing _him_ again. Antonio stood up from his seat, and picked up their plates. Before he left to wash them in the kitchen, he kissed the top of Lovino's head.

He left shortly after that.

Lovino spent the day restlessly watching TV in the living room. Quiet was something he had gotten used to, after _he_ died. But when Antonio came in, like some sort of beautiful storm running through his ragged up life, things were better. Sort of. Antonio's presence was some sort of saccharine drug – unhealthy, but so, so, addictive. Having him around the apartment seemed to develop some sort of sweet film on his life, glazing over the fact that _he_ was gone and everything really wasn't alright. (Because _he's_ not here, won't be here, will never be here. Period.)

-x-

When Antonio came back from _business_ Lovino had finished eight and a half movies – not that he paid attention to any. He was never really one for movies at home. It had always been _his_ thing. And that brought out more fucking emotional baggage than any piece of plastic should. Not-watching had led to stewing in his thoughts and that was never a really good idea, not when he became filled with thoughts of _him_ and this Antonio.

Good thing Antonio was dragging him to their bedroom for another night of mindless distraction. Even through the encouraging tugs on his clothing, those thoughts still managed to surface on his mind like an ugly oil spill, dark and messy. Not even the dizzying kisses Antonio lavished on him could make it go away.

The similarities between his Antonio and this Antonio were despairing – and the differences only made it harder for Lovino to sink into his embrace, to fall into his gaze, to spend warm nights with him, limbs pressed together, the Spaniard's eyes alight with amorous devotion.

Antonio (but not his Antonio, never his Antonio) pressed his lips against his, pulled him down, deep into his embrace and into his nest of comforters.

"_Lovino_," Antonio slurred in his Spanish lilt, heavy with adoration for the man pressed underneath him. "Say my real name, Lovino,"

Lovino's eyes were half-lidded now, and he blinked back a few tears and gasped out, quietly, "_Spain._"

This being above him, caging him in, melting against his skin was no mere man. Not like his Antonio. "_Spain_."

And _God_, that burned.

His skin could feel the heated turmoil in his heart, and for a dizzy moment he believed that _his_ Antonio was there with him, tracing his skin with reverent touches and passionate kisses, green eyes trained on him. Antonio (not his, _not_) wrapped his strong arms around his back and waist, pulling his entire body closer, so close Lovino felt that he may have suffocated.

He didn't, but his heart did.


End file.
